


His Dark Mistress

by amo_amare



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amo_amare/pseuds/amo_amare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Moriarty meets his match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Dark Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Challenge 3 ("Minor Characters") at [thegameison_sh](http://community.livejournal.com/thegameison_sh/).

“I’ve been admiring your work.”

Stripped of the little girl innocence and the uncertainty, her voice is soft and melodic: seductive, even. It’s still light and feminine, but underneath the dulcet tones there’s an edge: dull but deadly. He wonders if he could have missed it, but as he thinks back he’s sure: it definitely wasn’t there before.

There’s something different about her eyes, too: the look is more determined, more focused, more…cold. And the set of her shoulders—no, the entire posture of her body has changed. More than a month he’s been pretending to be her boyfriend, and he can hardly recognize her now.

A shiver runs through his limbs as he tries to think back to the last person who managed to surprise him: he can’t even remember that far back.

Still, he must be cautious: this could be a fluke. This could be him looking for excitement where there’s just more vapid nothing. Nearly five weeks of dinners, nights in front of the telly, snogging on the sofa—he knew all there was to know about this woman, didn’t he?

He moves forward slowly. “My work?” he asks, raising one of his delicately plucked and dyed eyebrows, so carefully constructed as part of his disguise. He’s still using the voice, the “Jim” voice: the one she’s used to.

She smiles at the gesture. “The bodies,” she clarifies. “Of course they all died in different ways, but I could recognize the same hand in all of them; an artist’s hand. Really, your work was quite beautiful.”

All at once, he can see through the veneer of Molly the lab rat: the little girl hair, the quivering voice, the shy and sickly smiles; they’re all illusion, no more real than her boyfriend “Jim” from IT. When was the last time someone managed to not only surprise him, but to fool him as well?

It’s too much. He closes the distance in three steps, reaching for her and pulling her lips toward his own. “Oh, you little minx…” he growls before lunging in to devour her.

“Stop.” There is no alarm, no panic, no passion in her voice; she’s almost bored. “We haven’t finished our discussion.”

“Discussion?” He can barely think for the lust pumping through his blood. This is like the high he feels when he’s playing his game, when he’s standing over a body: not lust, but bloodlust...

“The discussion of our arrangement, yes.” When his face remains blank, she goes on. “I know things about you: from the bodies, from my own observation…things I could share.”

The mask snaps back: this is business now, and he won’t be brokered a bad deal. “What do you want?” he asks coldly.

Her smile returns. “I want in.”

He stares at her for half a minute. An hour ago, she was his dupe: a silly, sappy pathologist he was using to further his own ends. He doesn’t know what she is now, and that makes her dangerous. Still, how can he tell her no? Who knows what she knows?

“All right,” he concedes, still wary.

Her façade of indifference fades away, melting in a girlish giggle. She gives him a coy look, and reaches out to stroke her long pale fingers down the curve of his jaw. He shivers again, at the cold touch of her hands, and the speed of her personality change: like flipping a switch. If things don’t get out of control, she’ll be a valuable ally…

“Jim,” she purrs. “Is it really Jim?” Her other hand is stroking his side, dipping ever so slightly lower with each pass…

“James, actually.” His voice doesn’t waiver despite the lump in his throat. He traces one finger along the delicate line of her cheekbone.

Her sweet smile contrasts the predatory look in her eyes. “James. I like that better.”

It doesn’t matter now what it’s going to cost him. He crushes his mouth against hers, pushing her up against the wall, urging his knee between her legs. He hisses and groans as she runs her nails across the back of his neck.

It might cost him everything. But what else could he expect to pay? Finally, he’s met his match.


End file.
